


An Inestimable Blessing and Bother

by strawberrykait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrykait/pseuds/strawberrykait
Summary: Hermione Granger accidentally ingests some sort of de-aging potion, causing herself to revert to being a 6-month old baby. Draco Malfoy is, somehow, the cause of this accident, and he takes her under his wing and tries to fix the error before anyone finds out.





	An Inestimable Blessing and Bother

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
> 
> Story Notes: Inspired by Unseenlibrarian’s prompt #94 from the Hawthorn & Vine Treasured Tropes Challenge 2012. And, as always, very special thanks to McCargi – where would I be without you? Thank you! 
> 
> Beta(s): McCargi

“A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother.” – Mark Twain.

There were several things Draco hated about having to actually work for a living: the fact that they expected him to be present and accounted for at the most ungodly hours; that his supervisors believed they were generous with his pittance of a salary; but most of all, that he had to work in the same bloody department as Hermione sodding Granger.

Wasn’t he punished enough in this life for all his supposed transgressions? His family not only paid restitution for their participation in the Second Wizarding War – so much so, that Draco was obliged to take on this job, in fact – but not only did he have to see her every day, but often work directly with her. That was asking too much of him, surely. 

He wasn’t exactly partial to this job, anyway. Being an Unspeakable wasn’t as glamorous as he had been led to believe. Draco used his father’s limited connections within the Ministry to listen for any openings elsewhere, but so far, nothing had popped up. This was all temporary, he told himself every time Granger’s voice grated on his nerves. Once his trust fund was released to him on his twenty-fifth birthday, he would give up this pretense and begin his life. However, two years seemed very, very far away most days, today especially.

Just the sound of her voice was enough to start a headache, but when she added in all the random noises and banging about, like now, Draco felt on the edge of a fit. He had tried many things, short of either quitting or killing her, including ear plugs, Silencio, and even a variation of a Bubble Charm to block her out, but she always managed to break through and annoy the hell out of him. This morning, he was situated as far away as possible as she worked on an unknown potion analysis. Granger was always prattling away to herself, thinking aloud, and having repetitive epiphanies – was such a think even possible?

“Granger, shut it,” he groused, running his hand through his slicked-back hair, mussing it up in frustration. “Is it absolutely necessary for you to chatter to yourself constantly?”

Granger sniffed. “I doubt you’d understand the benefits of my methods.”

“Your _methods_ are maddening and annoying,” he muttered.

“If, perhaps, you would work _with_ me, like we’re intended to do, then my comments wouldn’t be so bothersome to you,” she suggested tartly.

“No one really gives a damn about that potion, Granger. You’d realize that if you would just open your eyes -”

“Just because no one else in the Department has managed to adequately breakdown this particular potion doesn’t mean it’s a waste of time. So far, I have discovered several components…” 

Draco tried to tune her out, entirely uninterested in her babble about antioxidants and radicals and whatever theory she was constantly professing as the end-all-be-all. “Enough! Shut up, Granger! No one gives a damn, least of all me!”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re just biding your time, and wasting all of ours, aren’t you? I don’t know how you wormed your way into this department, but you obviously don’t want to be here. Neither do us! You’re not wanted, Malfoy. You’re nothing more than a Neanderthal, a waste of space! All you do is fiddle about and have nothing to show for it -”

“Nothing? Nothing! You’re deranged, Granger. I’ve had more impact on this Department than -”

“I know you’re not about to go on again about the _one time_ you managed -”

“I swear to Merlin, Granger, if you don’t shut your mouth and leave me be, so help me -”

“What? You’ll do what, what?” Granger’s temper was nearly boiling over, much like his. When she grabbed her wand from the counter on the other side of her bubbling cauldron, Draco also reached for his. If she wanted a fight, so be it. But before either of them could cast, something dreadful happened. As she carelessly reached for her wand to threaten him, she knocked over the cauldron. The potion splashed up and out and spread across the counter, sizzling as it went.

Hermione gasped, her mouth hanging open like a fish. She was covered in yellow spots, from her bushy hair to her splayed hands. Draco couldn’t help but laugh at her, moving closer for a better look at her mess. She deserved it, he thought, as she frantically, yet unsuccessfully, wiped at the unknown concoction. “Oh my God, Malfoy! Look what you’ve done!”

Draco laughed harder, bending down towards the table and wiping his eyes. With a second, sobering thought, he examined his hands and then his robes. He absolutely didn’t want whatever _that_ was all over himself! She continued to whinge and growl. 

“Oh, no!” she cried out and he looked over at her and was instantly silent. Granger’s poufy hair was shrinking up. In fact, Granger herself was shrinking. Draco watched as she grew _younger_ before his very eyes, a mixture of horror and hilarity bubbling within. Before he could say or do anything, Hermione Granger vanished within her enormous robes, which puddled on the floor. 

Draco blinked, unsure what had just happened. He took a hesitant step forward towards the pile of robes, and then jumped backwards when they shifted. Using his wand, Draco picked through Granger’s clothes, looking for evidence of the former swot. There, snuggled in the middle, he found her, naked as the day she was born and seemingly not much older than that, too.

The colour drained from Draco’s face as he stared down at a baby – a baby that, not five seconds ago, was his asinine lab partner, covered in yellow goop. 

“Merlin! This cannot be real,” he muttered to himself, holding the gaze of the rolling baby Hermione Granger. He took an involuntary step forward, and then immediately stepped back, glancing around the lab for any witnesses. They had been alone down here, but he had to make sure no one else had come in. To be absolutely certain, he cast a spell that would reveal the presence of another, and only when nothing appeared did he feel secure. 

He glanced down at what used to be Granger, puzzled. Draco shook his head clear. With confidence, Draco said, “Finite Incantatem.” But nothing happened. He repeated the spell many times, flinging his wand carelessly with each failure. He tried an array of spells and charms, yet nothing would undo what had happened. Draco mentally went over the things she had discovered about the strange concoction and shared aloud, however there was nothing glaringly obvious that could have caused her transformation. He glanced back at the upturned cauldron, noting how the thick, yellow liquid waited in the belly. 

What had she done?

“How could you do this to me, Granger?” he seethed down at her chubby little face. “Do you know what they’ll say when they find out? They’ll say _I_ did this, that I _caused_ this, and then what? What? All that shite I’ve worked my arse off to overcome – it’ll all come crash ‘round my ears, that’s what! None of it will matter. I’ll likely end up in Azkaban for damaging one of precious Potter’s friends! Damn you, Granger! It’s all your fault!”

Draco ruffled his hair in frustration. Heaving out a growl, he made a second attempt to reach the baby. As he neared, she began to blow bubbles and he recoiled with a yelp. The sound frightened the baby, who began to cry in earnest. “No, no no!” he pleaded with her. Her round face turned red and splotchy, and she was just beginning to throw a fit – a fit that would surely bring others. 

Without a second thought, Draco plucked baby Hermione from out of the wad of her robes, nearly dropping her once, and tried to silence her crying. He held her out at arm’s length as she continued to wail. Draco had never been around a baby before. How on Earth did you get them to shut up? 

She writhed in his loose grip. He eyed the spotted robes on the ground atop her other clothing. The wadded robes would be cumbersome, but also useless, as they still were covered in the potion. Draco had no intention of risking himself. Baby Hermione wriggled this way and that, still pitching a fit, and he nearly dropped her. He laid her down on an empty table, her stubby legs kicking up. He had to clothe her, for decency’s sake, as well as to make it easier to grab a hold of the squirming thing. Draco quietly Transfigured his robes into much smaller ones. It was a very odd sight, seeing a baby in Ministry robes, but it was the best he could manage at the moment. 

Now that that’s done, he thought, what do I do with a baby Hermione Granger?

•••

“Darling!” Narcissa Malfoy called out to her son as he entered her parlor. She had risen from her chair and was half-way across the room to greet him when she stopped at the odd sight before her. Draco Malfoy strode into the parlor, his usually sleek hair tousled along with his robes. He marched towards her with what appeared to be a tiny Ministry official thrust before him, as though it were a bomb. “Draco, darling,” she cleared her throat and spoke calmly, “Would you care to explain?”

“I can’t imagine where to begin, Mother.” Draco’s arms began to ache with baby Hermione’s weight. Babies shouldn’t weigh this much, and he decided it must be because she was Muggle-born. “It’s all Granger’s fault, I know that much!”

Narcissa’s eyes widened comically. “Granger – Hermione Granger, Harry Potter’s Mudblood friend? Honestly, Draco,” she tsked. “I thought you had better sense than to procreate out of wedlock! If your father were here…”

“What, no! No,” he growled. Baby Hermione began to fuss and wiggle and he once again nearly dropped her. Immediately, Narcissa removed the child from his outstretched arms and the baby settled. Draco flapped his arms around, thankful to be rid of the enormous nuisance. With a heavy sigh, he moved towards the liquor cabinet and poured himself a healthy Fire Whisky, gulping it down. He considered a second, but the noises coming from his mother stopped him. He turned around. Narcissa was holding baby Hermione high on her hip, one arm braced around the baby’s back while the index finger on her other hand was firmly grasped in Granger’s tiny fist. They were both giggling at each other, his mother making the oddest little cooing noises that set the baby off.

“Why not try at the beginning?” Narcissa said in a sweet, lilting voice as she continued to make faces at the baby. Draco couldn’t speak for several seconds, amazed at how quickly his mother stopped the brat from fussing. An idea sprang up then, but it could wait. He obediently told his mother everything that had happened, all the while watching the pair of them enjoy each other’s company. He knew coming here was the answer.

When he was finished with an abbreviated version of the tale, Narcissa said nothing directly to him for a moment or two. Finally, she asked, “And how do you intend to fix this, darling?”

“Buggered, if I know,” he muttered into his empty glass.

“What was that?”

Draco quickly set his glass aside and strode towards them. It was unnerving, how they both stared at him, expectancy written across both very different faces.

“How should I know? I’m not responsible for any of this!”

“Oh, but you are, darling,” Narcissa corrected him. “A baby is a major responsibility. Whimsy?”

“That’s not what…” Draco sighed, scratching the back of his head and disheveling his hair further.

Whimsy the House-elf appeared with a small pop. “Yes, Mistress be calling Whimsy?”

“We have a new baby, Whimsy,” Narcissa cooed into baby Hermione’s face, and she cooed and slobbered in kind. Inside Draco’s thoughts battled, one side rejoicing that his mother not only knew what to do with a baby, but also seemed _happy_ over the prospect, while the other worried that she seemed _too happy_.

“Y-yes, Mistress. Whimsy knows what to do,” said the House-elf before disappearing. 

Draco stared at the spot where it once stood and felt cold dread wash over him. Narcissa carried the slobbering monster over to the settee. As she removed her wand, Draco cut her off. “Won’t work, Mother. I’ve already tried”

He was surprised when she Transfigured the ill-fitting mini Ministry robes into a pink jumpsuit of sorts that better fit the squirming thing. He stepped closer to see what the blue specks were on the outfit, and discovered they were creepy, smiling pixies. His robes had never been more dreadful and tacky. Draco frowned as his mother proceeded to play Peek-a-Boo, causing baby Hermione to crack up over and over, as if Hermione had never seen anything so funny before. The panic returned then and he knew the opportunity was upon him.

Draco cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, clasping his hands resolutely. “I see you have everything in order, so I’ll say ‘good afternoon’.” He made it only two steps before his mother’s voice stop him dead in this tracks.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. His mouth was suddenly dry and he wished more than anything that his feet would remember how to move. Instead, he stood there and listened as the laughing pair behind him approached. He knew exactly what was coming. Taking a deep breath, he spun around to face the inevitable.

“I can’t, Mother, I just… can’t. If anyone found out about that,” he pointed towards baby Hermione, who was blowing raspberries at him. “I’d be ruined. Everything would be ruined.”

“So how do you plan to put things right again? You can’t very well leave her like this.”

“Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, Mother. Perhaps… if you could keep … _her_ ,” he grimaced at the baby, repressing a shudder of disgust at the long line of drool coming from her mouth. “Then I could return to work, see about undoing the mess she put me in… I don’t know.”

“Yes, that is a good idea,” she replied after a second. Draco was inwardly relieved. Once again, his mother had come to his rescue. There was hope, after all. “But she cannot stay here with me.”

The blood drained from his head, drowning out whatever ridiculous reasons she was saying as it passed by his ears. Draco reached a hand to brace himself against the wall and barked out, “What?! You can’t be serious, Mother. I can’t take care of a _baby_! How the hell do you think I can do that as well as go to work _and_ resolve this damned mess?”

“Language, darling,” she quietly said, wiping Hermione’s chubby chin with a handkerchief. 

 

Desperation took a hold of him as he paced back and forth. “There has to be something to undo this quickly,” he said. “Any ideas?” He looked at his mother only to find her completely absorbed with the baby. Typical. “What about a Time Turner? Father said”

“You father never owned one, darling,” Narcissa meekly protested. 

Flustered further, he continued. “Well, then, how about something that would work, Mother? Down in the dungeons, or, or perhaps in Father’s study? He had all those trinkets…”

“As you must recall, Draco, the Ministry confiscated most of your father’s collection after the war.”

“There has to be _something_! Anything! Have you any idea what will happen to me if anyone finds out? Especially Potter or Weasley?” Draco stopped to look at his mother when she didn’t answer him and found her lovingly staring down at the brat. He finally understood that she was going to be no help whatsoever and that he would have to go back to the lab, finish analyzing the potion that exploded on Granger and transformed her into the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He stalked towards the doorway until his mother finally spoke.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Her heels clicked across the wood floors behind him and he remained put, refusing to acknowledge her. She walked in front of him, the baby lying in her arms. “Don’t forget your baby, darling.”

“I told you,” he began, shouting, and then stopped himself, counting to ten before continuing in quieter voice. “That is not my baby.”

“Like I said, a baby takes a great deal of responsibility, and since you managed to put yourself in this situation, it’s up to you alone to find the solution. That includes taking care of _everything_. Until you undo the damage, she is your baby” she said as she handed the Hermione over to him. The horrified look on his face was comical and she fought against laughing at him. Narcissa truly loved her only son, but how would he ever learn accountability and responsibility if she continually stepped in?

Baby Hermione lay in his arms, flailing her little fists up at him, as though she wanted nothing more than to sock him one. Draco continued to protest against her decision, claiming that babies weren’t safe with him, pleading to her maternal nature at one point, followed by a nasty accusation that she was partly to blame for never producing any other siblings for him. She gave him a cold stare and instantly he was repentant. 

Nothing more was spoken until he was standing just outside the front door, baby Hermione cuddled against his chest. Narcissa felt a pain in her chest at the sight and silently wished her son good fortune.

•••

Shortly after the completely useless visit with his mother, Draco arrived at his own flat, carrying a crying Hermione on his hip like he’d seen his mother do. His head was splitting from the heinous noise she made. How could someone so tiny be so loud?

All he wanted was his mother’s help, for Merlin’s sake! She was a mother, after all; it wouldn’t be much to ask of her to tend to another child, at least until he somehow managed to undo this catastrophe, would it? Apparently, it was too much, and he couldn’t recall another time when he’d been so angry with her. There was no one else who could help him, now. St. Mungo’s was out of the question. Once he admitted who the baby was, they would first consider locking him away in nicely padded room, but then they’d transfer him straight to Azkaban. No one, possibly not even his own mother, would believe that not only was it an accident, but it wasn’t his fault at all. Draco glared at the thrashing Hermione on his hip, considering for the hundredth time of casting Silencio.

“Disgusting, slobbering parasite,” he muttered.

Draco struggled with the fussy, bouncing baby in his arms as he tried to unlock the door, dropping the keys once and cursing. Finally, he managed to get inside. He intended to drop the wailing monster down on the sofa and gulp down as much headache potion as he could find, followed by another Fire Whisky. But what he found in his flat was so horrifying, that any previous thought vanished in a flash.

“What the hell…”

“Oh, oh! Master is home! Whimsy has just finished, Master Draco!” The House-elf stood in the center of what was once his front room but now looked nothing less than a nightmare. Piled high on his sofa were dozens of fluffy, cuddly toys. In the corner was the largest contraption Draco had ever seen, a sort of padded shopping trolley. Draco stomped further into his flat, cocking his head to peer into his kitchen. Unsurprisingly, the counters were stacked high with various jars and tins and bottles. It was infuriating, but it was far from over. He carried the crying baby, spotting the highchair as they passed, and ran back into his front room, eyeing what else the blasted elf had done. He set her down on the sofa, glaring.

Every piece of furniture that wasn’t cushioned previously now boasted a grey, foamy layer of wadding meant to protect the damned baby from harm. The blood rushed past his ears, preventing him from hearing all that the bloody elf was saying. Draco spun about to glare at the creature, who immediately shut up. 

“What. Have. You. Done?”

Whimsy stuttered at first, and then said, “Whimsy did as Mistress said, Master Draco. Whimsy made it safe for Miss Hermione to live with you.”

“She is not going to live with me!” Draco bellowed, and Whimsy cringed, covering his head with both arms. He cowered near the sofa, where baby Hermione had pulled herself up against the arm. She laughed and flung her stubby arm out towards the elf, who noticed and crawled up next to her. Hermione proceeded to reach for Whimsy’s ears, laughing jubilantly. “You have to take her back to the Manor, Whimsy,” he ordered.

Whimsy glanced up at him, his eyes wide with fear. “But… Mistress is saying Miss Hermione is to live with Master Draco. That was why Whimsy brought all of baby’s things here, sir.”

“I don’t care what my mother told you, dammit, you’re taking her back with you or so help me…”

Whimsy cried out as he scurried away, cringing. His abrupt departure upset the baby, who’s face scrunched up in a tight red ball just before the wailing started again.

“Look what you’ve done! You set her off!” Draco growled, tearing his own hair out. He stomped off to his bedroom to get away from it all, loosening his tie and flinging off his work robes. This was the absolute worst day of his life, he decided. His hands rested on his hips and he heaved out his frustrations. Granger’s crying tapered off. There, in the far corner, was a long basket of sorts. Curious, he walked over to it and discovered it was meant for Hermione. Of course. That witch was turning his life completely upside down. It was as though that were her sole purpose in life, or possibly that he were being punished for all the horrible things of his youth, all at once. 

Well, he’d be buggered before he let her sleep in his bedroom.

When he reentered the front room, Whimsy was gone, but she remained. She was gnawing on a green cuddly bunny. Baby Hermione lost her tiny grip on the bunny as he watched and instantly she was crying again. Her face screwed up, her mouth widening like a frog’s as her fit took a hold. Draco believed they were of a same mind for the first time in both their lives. 

“Shut up! Bloody hell, why don’t you _ever_ shut up? I should have left you in the lab. All you’ve ever done is cause me grief. What do you want from me, Granger? Huh? What if I just left you at St. Mungo’s, then? Let them take care of your stupidity? Why did you have to be so careless and leave me to clean up after you? Why?”

Draco slammed around the room, knocking several things over in his rage. Toys littered the floor, as well as other infant detritus. Tiny little plastic things were scattered among them, rounded and rubbery. He hastily picked one up to inspect it, noticing the shape, and realized its purpose. He walked the short distance to the sofa and shoved it into her open mouth. She instantly latched onto the dummy, but soon spit it out, crying again. Draco picked it up and tried once more to shut her up with it, but she again refused. His nerves were frayed, but then an idea occurred to him.

He grabbed the crying baby and hauled her back into the kitchen, dropping her unceremoniously into the highchair and hurried to the array of baby food the elf had left. The jars were colorful and small, arranged by their colour, with fine print on their labels identifying their contents. He grabbed one at random and returned to the highchair. 

Merlin’s beard, these jars were sealed up tighter than a Gringott’s vault!

He dragged a chair in front of the screaming baby and sat down, looking around. “Accio spoon!” He used the spoon to stir up the baby food. He glanced back at the label with disbelief. He had never seen green peas like this before. It was revolting and he was highly doubtful that Granger would eat such disgusting stuff. Still, he had to find something to occupy her mouth.

Draco caught her off guard, her mouth wide open as great tears ran down her chubby cheeks. As soon as he deposited the sickly green mess in her mouth, her crying stopped. Baby Hermione worked her little jaw up and down, tasting the disgusting _food_ , and then smacking her lips for more. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, spooning in another mouthful. 

Twenty minutes later, Draco’s kitchen was a disaster. After about three spoonfuls of one jar, baby Hermione fussed and refuse to eat anymore, so Draco had opened a different jar. In fact, he’d opened about ten different jars. Their frustration levels continued to rise as Draco failed to find which one she really wanted and Hermione managed to spit up and knock the spoon from his hand repeatedly. The entire tray of her highchair was thick with pureed fruits and vegetables, as well as the surrounding floor. 

Eventually, the baby seemed satisfied and sleepy. _Thank Merlin!_ Draco glanced at his filthy watch and noted it was nearly midnight. There was still enough time to get seven hours of sleep and then he could figure out something to do with the menace while he was working.

Baby food dripped off his own head. He yawned as he said, “Scourgify,” at her, and then at the room, and finally at his own head. It wasn’t as nice as a shower, but it would suffice until morning. Through exhausted eyes, he stared down at the baby, who was rubbing away at her eyes as they drooped. He lifted her from the highchair and felt a squishy on her bum. With a roll of his eyes, Draco Vanished whatever was in her nappy. He was definitely not up to _that_ at the moment! 

Unfortunately, his spell work needed improvement where babies were concerned, for he not only Vanished Hermione’s deposit, but also the nappy itself. With a roll of his eyes, Draco stomped back into the front room, looking about for the spares Whimsy had brought, all the while, baby Hermione cooed and gurgled in his arms. 

Having found the nappies, Draco started to lay the baby down on his sofa, but thought better about it. Where could he put her that wouldn’t get… stuff… everywhere? Eventually, he chose the loo. He muttered under his breath the entire time, cursing his mother and Hermione, who blew raspberries in response. Draco glanced down at her bottom and made a face. There was no way in hell he was touching _that_ , so instead he braced her against the rim of the sink and aimed his wand, blindly. 

“Aguamenti.” 

Cool water sprayed from the tip of his wand and baby Hermione protested instantly, wriggling in this one-handed grip and fussing. “Dammit.. wait…” He set her fully in the basin and adjusted the charm for less cool water before he continued. The baby was less fussy, but she wasn’t happy. “Believe me, Granger, you’re not the only one put out.”

Quickly he dried her off, considering briefly if giving her a bath would have been less work than this had, or what alternative charms he could learn to speed things along. Next came the nappy, which surely would be self-explanatory. 

How wrong he was. Draco managed to ruin half a dozen of the damned things before finally getting one to stay on. By this time, it was well past one o’clock in the morning, and they were both exhausted. 

“All right then, Granger,” he said wearily as he placed her in the smaller bed left for her. “Let’s try to get _some_ sleep, shall we? Tomorrow… well, tomorrow will just have to take care of itself, won’t it?” He crawled in to bed and extinguished the lights in the room, falling almost instantly asleep. 

He managed nearly four hours before she woke him.

•••

“Darling, you know how much I am opposed to fire-calls,” Narcissa sweetly chastised her only son shortly after dawn. “And at such an awful hour!”

“Mother!” Draco barked, his patience completely gone. He knew he ought to regret speaking to her that way, but he decided she was partly to blame for his bad mood and poor manners, since she refused to help him the day before. Now, she was getting a second chance to make it up to him. “You have to watch her today.”

Narcissa blinked at him, or perhaps the embers merely popped at that moment, but either way, she remained silent. He thought she didn’t hear him, and considered repeating his demand, but then she blatantly refused. 

Draco stared hard at the fiery image of his mother for several seconds. _Unbelievable._ He tried to explain why he needed her _invaluable help and expertise_ so desperately, peppered with compliment after compliment, but she knew him too well. His patience was utterly depleted, and the nuisance in the other room began to fuss again. It seemed no argument, nor any promise, would move her to action.

“Darling, when you’re a parent -”

“I’m not!” he growled.

Narcissa pursed her lips, awaiting an apology. He could barely muster the effort, but she continued afterwards. “You have to make personal sacrifices -”

Draco’s temper flared again. “Like you and Father did? Neither of you actually held down a job, like I do, plus, you had House-elves,” he accused. The pair stared back at each other, neither speaking for a long time, as the baby’s fussing increased. Finally, when he knew he was simply wasting time, he offered her the usual pleasantries, wishing her a good day and such, and she returned the sentiment. She ended the call first. 

“Typical. Now what am I to do?”

•••

He was undeniably late, thanks to baby Hermione. Not only had she robbed him of his sleep the night before, carrying on like a madwoman, crying all hours of the night, but had also cursed the entire day by ruining his morning routine.

After his useless conversation with his mother, Draco rushed through his morning ablutions, adding an unhealthy amount of Pepperup to his tea, and then saw to hers, changing the wet nappy and hurriedly feeding her from a leftover jar. Evidently, babies had no concept of hurry, for she fussed and fought with him, refusing to open her mouth to take another bite. By the time he gave up and cleaned her up, his frustration level was near boiling.

That was when she was sick all over his best work robes.

•••

Draco strode through the atrium of the Ministry as he did every morning, occasionally nodding at men as they passed, all the while hearing nothing but the blood rush through his ears. Self-consciously, he worried that the stench of her vomited split peas could still be detected, despite his rushed efforts. It had been so wretched, that more than once, Draco nearly was sick himself. Damn Granger. _Seventy-six… seventy-seven… seventy-eight…_ Had the path to the lifts always been this long? It was nearly nine o’clock, nearly everybody had already arrived by now, as he’d anticipated, but he still worried about the lift ride to Level Nine. It was easy enough to be inconspicuous in a practically empty atrium, but it was something else entirely to hope for an empty lift.

Salazar Slytherin must have been smiling down upon Draco, however. He released a heavy sigh when the doors shut before him and his torso began to squirm and coo. There were no other options; he had to bring her in to work with him. After finishing his call with his mother, he fed and cleaned baby Hermione and let her pick out what outfit she wanted to wear, because he was admittedly rubbish when it came to baby clothes. Every one of them was dotted with absurd baby animals in pastels. And what did it matter, anyhow? No one would see her. 

He hoped.

Suddenly, the lift stopped and the doors parted. At first, Draco believed he was having a nightmare, for Arthur Weasley entered with a curt smile. He nodded in return and stepped over to the side. Mentally he willed Hermione to stay perfectly still. As a precaution, Draco hunched forward slightly and turned away from him. 

Out of all the Ministry employees who could have crossed his path, it certainly could have been worse. Arthur Weasley was always polite, if not outwardly friendly, and Draco couldn’t fault him for that, given their history. He just hoped that now would not be the time Arthur decided they ought to change the status quo.

“Morning, Draco,” he greeted.

“Arthur,” he quietly replied and looked away. It was then that Hermione giggled within his robes.

“Sorry?” The older wizard cocked his head, a look of expectancy upon his face.

Draco shook his head and hunched further forward, surreptitiously feeling around his stomach. He had secured a dummy to her, somewhere. He’d remembered to Disillusion the baby hidden against his front, but he’d forgotten all about charming her to be quiet.

“Feeling a bit under the weather, then, Draco?” Arthur asked, a touch of humorous concern in his voice. Draco gurgled some noncommittal noise and stepped further away, closer towards the lift doors, his eyes watching the numbers increase. Under his robes, his fingers ran about, searching for the blasted dummy. When at last he found it and prodded it against baby Hermione’s lips, a small amount of relief ran through him, but of course, it couldn’t last. 

The lift abruptly stopped. Draco lunged for the parting doors, still hunched over. How had he deluded himself into thinking bringing a baby under his robes into the Department of Mysteries would ever work? He was absolutely desperate, that’s how. The sooner they reached their lab, the better, and spending one more moment with Arthur Weasley was out of the question, even if he’d have to hike up the stairs.

From still within the lift, Arthur called out, “Do take care,” and Draco, stooped and ridiculous looking, frantically nodded in response before lurching towards the next lift.

Draco and Hermione made it to the Department of Mysteries without further incident, and before long, they reached the lab where Hermione had been analyzing the potion. Quite fortunately, it was deserted, which was Draco’s second major concern with his faulty plan. However, the potion was nowhere to be found. 

Frantically, Draco spun about the small lab, searching high and low for any sign, any smidgeon of liquid remaining of the disastrous concoction that had damaged his former partner. Nothing, not even her ruined clothes remained. Beneath his robes, baby Hermione began to squirm again, her dummy obvious spat out as she gurgled and cooed. He carefully removed the robes, giving her some air. She was strapped to his chest in a ridiculous looking sling that she was almost too big for, which surprisingly worked well, even though his concealment charm had worn off rather quickly. 

Draco unlatched the baby and set her down in a nearby sink. Surely she wouldn’t cause any more trouble there. He then set about scouring the lab. The cauldrons were all upright and empty, bearing no trace whatsoever that they’d been used the day before. He had no idea which she’d had, even. Oh, this was not good. Draco silently damned every House-elf the Ministry employed. He quickly ran through a series of charms and spells, hoping to recover what had been lost, but eventually he realized how useless it all was. The potion was gone, and Hermione Granger was still a baby.

He glared over at her. It was entirely her fault. If she hadn’t been _stupid_ enough to drench herself with the damned potion…if he hadn’t been saddled with her in the first place…

“What the devil am I to do now, huh?” Draco bellowed at her. His loud voice startled the baby, who jumped at the sound and wobbled around to see where it came from. He stomped towards her, his temper completely out of control. “You just had to do it, just had to be a know-it-all! Now look where it’s got us! How am I to sort this, Granger? What am I supposed to do with you now?” He swiped his arm across the tabletop, scattering jars and vials and other equipment everywhere. Baby Hermione began to cry again as he pulled his hair out in utter frustration. 

“There’s nothing for it,” he muttered. All of his options led to ruin, except for one, and that was not something he was capable of doing.

Just then, the lab door creaked open. Fresh panic overwhelmed Draco as his attention swung back and forth between the baby and the newcomer. He had to think quickly.

“Hermione?” 

Harry Potter walked into the quiet lab, stepping gingerly over the items strewn about the floor. He looked to Draco like a prissy little girl traipsing through ankle-high mud. He managed to put his smug face in place before Potter noticed him.

“Malfoy.” Potter spat his name with obvious distaste. The feeling was quite mutual, however, Draco said nothing. He glared at the other man, counting the seconds until the bastard left, but it was apparent Potter wasn’t going to cooperate. “Have you seen Hermione?” 

“Of course I have,” he answered with a sneer. “She’s about this high, if you don’t count the two feet of hair atop her big brain.” He crossed his arms and stared the other wizard down. With a roll of his eyes, Potter approached him. Draco watched as Potter glanced about, searching for the bushy-haired witch, who was currently infantized and thrashing about in the nearby sink, hidden under a disillusionment charm and Draco’s second best robes. It was the best he could do, with such short notice. With his natural ability to piss Potter off, he was certain Scarhead would soon be out the door and he could go about his business. Of course, what to do next was a complete mystery, since the potion had vanished. _Something_ had to be done, however.

“Have you seen her today?”

“No,” he quickly lied, holding Potter’s gaze steady. “Haven’t seen that bushy head of hers since yesterday.” Potter stared back at him. Draco could tell that he wanted to say something else, but he was not about to do him any favours. He shifted his wait from one foot to the other, growing more anxious as he continued to walk about, looking around pillars and corners, as though Draco were hiding Granger. Which, of course, he was, but Potter hadn’t the sense to check the sinks, did he?

“Hermione usually stops off to make plans for lunch, but not today,” Potter said haltingly, as though hating to tell Malfoy anything about their habits. “However, no one’s seen her since yesterday. Funny,” he said without a trace of real humor in his voice. “Seems you were the last to see her.”

A hollow thud rang out from the nearby sink, and Draco’s eyes widened for a fearful second. 

“What was that?” Potter asked, his suspicions raised as he looked for the sound’s origin.

He’d charmed the baby to be practically invisible and silent – a lesson he’d only learned that very morning after the incident with Weasley – but he’d apparently not thought to prevent the bundle of annoyance from banging on the sides of the sink. There was no more time for idle chitchat.

“What do you think has happened, then? Think I’ve murdered your favourite Mudblood, Potter? As if I would bother, considering how much damage she causes herself on daily basis down here,” he sneered. “I suppose that hero complex of yours forces you to constantly check up on your friends, does it? Must be exhausting, rushing off into perfectly normal situations and looking the fool.”

His words hit their mark, drawing Potter’s full attention and irritation. He stepped towards Draco, his jaw set. “If you know something … if you’ve done _anything_ …” his threat trailed off as he stood before Draco, staring up at the slightly taller wizard. “Unlike you, Malfoy, Hermione is important. She’s got friends and family who care about her and are worried when she doesn’t show. Friends who’ll protect her to the last breath. Who do you have on your side?”

“Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, Potter? Aren’t Aurors like yourself supposed to be saving the world from villains?”

“You mean, like you?” Potter taunted. Draco felt his face heat up and was on the verge of retaliating with his wand, when Potter shook his head with a disgusted look and made to leave, muttering under his breath things Draco was happy not to hear. Even so, his temper was far from slaked, as he’d hoped it would be. As the door slowly shut, Draco’s temper erupted and the instruments the lab rattled and bounced with his frustrations.

•••

He walked slowly into his flat, deflated, and defeated. Baby Hermione was oblivious to everything, waving her arms and legs on either side of his chest playfully, making odd little noises to herself. At least someone was happy with her unfortunate situation. Draco pulled her out of her papoose and carried her into the bedroom to change her nappy, and once she was clean and fresh, he carried her to her highchair. He absently charmed the spoon and a selection of jars to feed her as he washed himself up a bit, thinking all the while.

Without the original potion, with only the spare notes she had made during analysis, it was possible, but not very probable, that he could infer the unknown components. This was not the first time he’d considered this, but rather a thought that continued to plague him. Draco shook his weary head. No, it wouldn’t work in a million years. They had no way of knowing how many other ingredients were in that damned unknown potion, which was why he and Granger had been assigned it in the first place. He growled his frustrations and rubbed his face harshly before looking back at his own reflection. If only Granger could talk. He was sure that, out of the two of them, she was the clever one, the one capable of solving this bloody mishap. Had he ingested the cursed potion, Granger would have figured out how to reverse it in no time, long before she would have had to change a disgusting nappy, he felt certain.

Utterly exhausted and at the end of his rope, Draco trudged back into the kitchen. Baby Hermione was where he’d left her, naturally, but the charmed spoon had been no match for her. Pureed food was splatter across the room once more, and all he could muster was a wearied sigh. Clean up did not take very long, and by the time it was finished, both needed baths. Draco summoned Whimsy.

The House-elf appeared with a pop. “Master Draco is calling Whimsy?” he asked deferentially. Draco instructed the creature to give baby Hermione a bath before he drug himself into the shower. The cascading scalding water helped to release some the tension he’d held onto in his back and shoulders, and he stayed in much longer than he should have. Draco used his wand to dry off and dressed in his pyjamas and robe before returning to Whimsy and baby Hermione, who was sound asleep. More relief washed over Draco and he nearly thanked the House-elf, but caught himself at the last second. 

A thought occurred to him. “Whimsy, go to my Father’s private library,” he said while searching for a quill and parchment. He quickly jotted down a selection of titles he’d just recalled and gave further instruction to Whimsy to return as quickly as possible with the dark magic books. It was at least worth a shot, he reasoned. 

In a flash, Whimsy vanished, leaving Draco once again alone with the baby. He made the most of the quiet time jotting down ideas that had percolated while in the shower. By the time Whimsy returned with the towering books, Draco had nearly two feet written down. He dove into the books soundlessly, forgetting that he wasn’t alone. Whimsy stood at attention for a very long time, until, finally, baby Hermione began to wake. Draco glanced up at the sound and watched as Whimsy tended to the baby straightaway. He returned to his page.

It had been such a long and trying day, and Draco wanted to go bed, but he wanted normalcy more, and so he continued to research, tossing aside useless books with increasing desperation and anger. How had dark wizards never considered something as diabolical as reverting an enemy into an infant? Perhaps his father had just not collected the right books. He shook himself at the idea that what had befallen Granger and himself could be conceived as useful. 

Glancing at the clock, he realized the baby would need to be fed again. Exasperated, turned to order Whimsy to feed her, and found the elf had already taken the initiative. Once again, he considered thanking Whimsy. 

“Oh, oh!” Whimsy cried out, startling Draco.

“What is it?” he muttered.

“Whimsy must be going, Master Draco. His mistress is calling Whimsy,” he House-elf said with trepidation, tugging on the tips of his ears with worry.

“What? Oh,” Draco turned around in his chair to glare at him, and then dismissed him entirely. Surely, the baby wouldn’t be much trouble at this hour, especially since she’d been so calm and quiet so far. He let Whimsy go and continued reading and taking notes. 

Behind him, she made strange gurgling noises, peppered with laughter. He ran his hand through his oily hair, his eyes drooping. Suddenly, other noises joined in. He did his best to ignore her as he read, and re-read, the same page. The noises and her laughter grew until a loud crash erupted. Draco spun about, irritated to no end, to see that the baby, sitting in front of the sofa, was waving his wand all around the room. 

The front room was a disaster. Nearly every surface was glittering with some kind of fairy dust. His lamp had shrunk down small enough for a mouse. His once pristine white sofa was splashed with red, green, and purple splotches that dripped down onto the carpet. The ceiling had been transfigured and now resembled an upside down ocean. And there, sitting in the middle of the chaos, was a giggling, happy baby.

How had he not noticed this?

In seconds, he was on his feet, snatching the wand out of her chubby little hand. “Are you insane?! You could have killed us both! Wands aren’t for babies,” he yelled. Draco’s eyes bulged. He was truly losing his mind. “Dammit, Granger! I’m doing my damnedest to fix _your mess_ , and all you seem to do it make matters worse! Do you or do you not want to be yourself again, because I can’t take it anymore! If you keep this up, you’re going to remain a baby and I won’t be responsible!”

Hermione’s giggling had stopped the moment he began yelling, and her face crumbled up. Great big tears sprang from the corners of her large, brown eyes and her mouth opened up in a wail. 

Draco flung up his hands. “Whimsy! Whimsy?” Baby Hermione’s cries grew louder, her face redder, but the House-elf did not reappear. Finally, he bent down to pick her up. Her plump little fists battered against him lightly between rubbing at her creased eyes. “Stop it, Granger; no one likes a cry baby.” He braced her on his side and gradually bounced as his voice softened. “There, there. Look, I’m … sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing, or how to fix this at all. I’m lost. There’s nothing here,” he nodded toward the mountain of books and scrolls. She neither looked nor understood anything he said, and with a sigh, Draco wiped at her warm tears and held her tighter. “I’m sorry, Granger.”

Her wails subsided, yet her tears continued. Baby Hermione’s face was splotchy, he noticed, as she rested her head against his collar. Her entire body jerked when she hiccupped, and he couldn’t help but smile. Draco brushed her tiny curls away from her wet face. Baby Hermione continued to quietly hiccup as he waltzed around the front room with her, lulling her to sleep. This was equally his fault, he reasoned, and she was depending on him to set things right. 

As she rested in his arms, the full gravity of the situation hit him. If he couldn’t undo the damage, Hermione Granger would start her life over again. Who would raise her? Draco wasn’t ready to be a father, obviously. Maybe he never would be, if the last few days were any indication. Then there was Potter and Weasley, and all of Granger’s loved ones. Imagining what they would do to Draco wasn’t difficult, and they would surely mete their punishment before the Wizengamot had their chance. He expected a year in prison for every freckle on Weasley. 

If he was unable to reverse the spell damage, what then? There was always St. Mungo’s. Surely, they could return Granger to her normal, adult self. His reputation wouldn’t be worth stinksap then, but the alternative was far worse, for everybody involved. Glancing down at the sleeping baby, he knew he’d run out of options.

•••

Surprisingly enough, the broom ride to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries did not wake the baby. The brisk air cleared Draco’s sinuses as well as his brain. Everything seemed perfectly clear now and he wanted to kick himself for not coming here sooner. Yes, it was very likely he would be held responsible for this accident, but that’s all it was – an accident. Something to be corrected easily by professionals, the Healers, those capable of such magic. Besides, bringing Granger here would surely count for something in his favour. This wasn’t just the best solution; it was the right decision.

The ground floor was practically buzzing with dozens of witches and wizards, Healers and others, their voices joining into one maddening cacophony. Cradling the bundled baby protectively against his chest, Draco strode up to the floor marquee and, after a moment’s perusal, decided that they needed the third floor: Potion and Plant Poisoning. He made his way through the throng to the lifts and waiting impatiently for the doors to shut. It was less crowded and definitely less noisy in the lift, but his anxiety had not lessened whatsoever.

The doors opened after a moment, and he exited quickly, spying the receptionist station. “We need a Healer this instant,” he demanded urgently yet quietly. The witch sitting at the desk handed him a stack of forms without even glancing his way, instructing him to have a seat and that a Healer will be with him eventually. It took great restraint for Draco not to fling the paperwork back in her face, just to invoke a reaction beyond boredom from her. Instead, he took a deep breath and moved towards the rickety wooden chairs she had indicated.

It was less crowded up here, but still disturbing. Rows and rows of witches and wizards awaiting their turns, some of them in agonizing pain, judging from their moans and appearance. Draco searched for a spot far from the worst of the lot. He noted the Healers in their lime green robes as they approached individuals, taking their paperwork from them, and most often escorting them off down the corridor. Mentally collecting the number of patients in the waiting area, Draco knew he and baby Hermione would be here a very long time.

She seemed all right, however, currently sleeping against his chest, her chubby cheeks flushed. Gently, he stroked her covered head, and then glanced through the forms. He frowned down at the details he did not know, such as the patient’s birthday and address. Really, couldn’t he just see a Healer to explain what had happened? Did they really need all this?

Frustrated, Draco gave up the forms and then reached for a nearby magazine. He made a face at the outdated fare, but grabbed one at random, flipping through the pages. He tried not to think about what sickly bastard last touched this same issue. He held it away from Granger as much as possible, not caring how ridiculous he might appear. Several minutes passed, during which baby Hermione began to fuss a bit. Draco produced a bottle for her from within his robes, and she latched on, quietly sucking until she fell asleep once more. He couldn’t help but smile at her slack mouth, wet with formula. Unconsciously, he held the baby closer as he chose another magazine.

A familiar redhead graced the cover of one and he snatched it up, leering at George Weasley’s proud smirk. The photo of the wizard audaciously winked at Draco, and he immediately wanted to toss it across the room, but then he read the caption. Apparently, Weasley had been interviewed on the success of his joke shop. Curious, Draco found the article within and read. He skimmed over the preliminary bits, the blather about the deceased twin and how they began their shop, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He was more interested in the part where the journalist implied just how much money the ginger had made, supposedly transcending from a joke shop into a multi-million galleon industry great. The article was rather old, about two years, give or take, and the more he read, the more irritated he became. 

His eyes scanned the paragraphs, surprised at how a Weasley had managed to be wealthier than he was. The article listed some of their more successful sale items, items Draco recalled from their school days, but there were also newer ones he had never heard of, potions, candies and chews and the like, mostly for students wishing to skive off from classes. “Those sneaky bastards,” Draco shook his head, grinning. They were always industrious, and even though he’d never liked any Weasley, he had to admit, the twins had made something of themselves. 

Then he had a thought, an idea which completely overtook him, filling him up with hope. He eyed the patients and Healers throughout the room, checking if any were watching. Tossing the magazine aside, Draco stood up and briskly walked towards the lifts, leaving the unfilled paperwork behind as well.

•••

The bustling streets of Diagon Alley were just as crowded, just as loud as those outside St. Mungo’s, except that here Draco with a baby was very conspicuous. So, before he jumped through the icy cold doorway between the magical hospital and Muggle London, he charmed baby Hermione and her papoose in the fashion that was becoming second nature.

Even so, he was wary of the many people out on the street, conscientious of his hidden bundle. Every few feet, he recognized someone as they passed, nodding to each without making eye contact. His body was hunched forward and his step quickened, desperate to reach the joke shop without incident. Merlin must have been smiling on him, because they entered the shop within minutes, however, the worst was yet to come. 

If Draco had believed St. Mungo’s was a crowded nightmare, he had no words to describe what he found within Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, other than perhaps, “madhouse.” Young wizards and witches of various ages literally were running about the place, up and down stairs as they examined every delight the Weasley’s had concocted. The shop was a myriad of colours and sights, things which would have also entranced Draco some years ago, when he’d been a young man, before the Dark Lord and the war had ruined his life. Through all the chaos, two thoughts occurred to him: The first, that there was absolutely no way he would be able to quickly find what he’d hoped was here, and the second, he was as good as dead, judging from the glares sent directly his way by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.

Maneuvering through the aisles was hellish, but he somehow managed, quickly eyeing the busy shelves, searching. There was very little time before someone, possibly several someones, would intervene and likely ask him to leave. This was his and baby Hermione’s last chance.

To his utter amazement and joy, Draco spied something close to what he’d hoped to find. He snatched at the bottle and considered taking two, but shook his head against it. Spinning about on his heel, he nearly toppled into none other than George Weasley. 

“How do, there, Malfoy. Fancy seeing you here,” the joke shop proprietor said with a smirk. Draco had never liked George Weasley, like he had never liked any Weasley, but personally he had no real qualms, past or present, against the wizard. Considering his and Hermione’s needs, he chose to be tactful and brief. 

“I’d like to pay for this,” he said, lifting while yet concealing the vial he held and stepped towards the register. 

“Business is business,” said George, “And, as you can see, it’s quite booming.” He opened his palm for Draco to hand over the vial, one eyebrow quirking upwards as he recognized it. Draco held his breath, anticipating the worst. Without comment, George rang the potion up, and Draco expressed such relief that George began to smirk again. “And how is our dear Granger? See much of her lately?”

Draco offered an odd, noncommittal noise and head bob, his attention elsewhere now that he was assured the sale. He cast his eyes about suspiciously, anxiously searching for the troublesome pair. 

His chest began to wiggle then. Draco’s eyes bulged. Of course, no one could see the baby hidden beneath his robes, but if she kept up such squirming, they would all notice his reactions. His window had nearly run out, so Draco nodded absently to whatever George was saying to him, silently prodding him to hurry it up. At last, he took his money, and Draco plucked the package up, forgetting his change, and all but ran away from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.

“Come again, then, Malfoy!” George called after him.

•••

Moments later, they were safely ensconced in his flat, throwing off his robes and reversing the multiple spells upon the baby, who was quite fussy by this time. He looked down at his shirt and moaned at the wet stain she’d left. _Terrific, thanks ever so, Granger._

Draco cleaned her up first, changed her nappy and grabbed a bottle for her, and then quickly ripped off his soiled clothes and threw on a clean set. Once she had finished and was settled, he sat down with her resting against his shoulder, absently bouncing her, as he read the label on the bottle from Weasley’s.

“Weasley’s Tried And True Aging Potion, guaranteed to advance your age. One dose is sufficient for up six months. Ideal for those seeking to pass the Apparition test, driving exam, acquire a marriage license (although this is not recommended by WWW). Remember, cherish your youth. Single dose effective within ten minutes. Side effects include (but are not limited to) increased body hair, abnormally enlarged noses and ears, unexplainable body aches and frequent urges to visit the closest loo,” he muttered. “Well, then, suppose we’ll need,” he calculated silently, and then expressed a great breath, “the entire bottle. What do you say, Granger, you ready to grow up?”

She burped in response and he took that as an affirmative and began preparations. Some thought was given on how to dispense the potion to a baby, as well as the extent of the negative side effects, considering she was a _baby_. Eventually, Draco was as ready as he could be and he said a silent plea to Merlin that this would work. He served the potion in a clean bottle and held her close as she drank it down slowly.

Then nothing happened for a long time.

Draco grew anxious, consulting the vial repeatedly, desperately searching for anything more, any further instructions or warnings, something that might tell him why Granger was still a babe. The only reference to time expectancy was for a single dose, and considering the measurements… well, _something_ ought to have happened by now!

The day faded into night, and baby Hermione was growing quite sleepy. Draco was, too, yet he couldn’t think of sleeping as he carefully watched her, anticipating any moment for her to suddenly return to her former self and, rather likely, attack him for her predicament. Despite all this worry, drowsiness won out, and together they fell asleep on his sofa, baby Hermione nestled against his chest, her mouth making gentle sucking motions; Draco, limbs akimbo, and one hand curved protectively around her small back, holding her close.

•••

The usual sounds of children at play on a Saturday morning carried on in the background as Draco slowly woke up. His body ached from sleeping on the sofa all night, and there was a horrible crick in his neck that he knew would likely last most of the day. He stood up, stretching, scratching the back of his head. Something niggled at the back of his mind, something he ought to remember, but couldn’t at the moment. Oh, well; it’d come to him, he decided, as he as shuffled into the loo.

That’s when he really woke up.

Draco ran back into the front room, calling out Hermione’s name. He looked first on the sofa, and then on the floor, and next, behind the sofa, but she wasn’t there. A frantic search of the flat only returned the evidence that she had been here, but not Hermione herself. Panic set in. As Draco ran towards the door, irrationally imaging that she could have, somehow, crawled out the locked flat door, he saw a folded sheet of parchment bearing his name.

For a long moment, Draco was stunned, staring down at the note but unable to pick it up. Finally, with shaking hand, he did. His panic was almost immediately assuaged.

_Please, don’t panic. I thought it best to leave you sleeping. I’m not completely certain of what has happened, but I understand enough, so far. Not to mention just how awkward it would have been, having us both wake up with me, completely naked, lying on top of you. Perhaps I should have left that part out?_

_I am all right, and I’m certain that’s to your credit, so thank you, Draco. I borrowed some robes – I hope that’s okay? I’ll be sure to have them cleaned and pressed and return them to you come Monday, at work. Love from, Hermione._

Short, with very little rambling, especially considering it was from Hermione Granger, Draco read, and re-read the note. It was as though he couldn’t absorb it, that the words were foreign, incomprehensible. He balled up the parchment and tossed it across the room in a fit. After a short while, Draco suffered a mixture of emotions – shock, amazement, fury, resentment, and finally, acceptance. 

She was right; it would have been extremely awkward, had she woken him, but still, he wished she had at least done him the courtesy, especially considering how much he had done for her the last couple of days. He glanced around his flat, at the evidence of her previous existence, and almost didn’t believe any of it had been real. 

Suddenly, his flat was rather empty – a sensation that spread even unto him.

•••

The next two days went by very slowly, and then it was time for Draco to return to work. Time that he would come face to face with Hermione Granger and they would have to address the situation. He had spent the entire weekend dreading and yet anticipating their next encounter, debating how he ought to handle everything. Ultimately, there were too many emotions involved for him to know what to do, and so he decided that he would simply endure whatever came his way, since he couldn’t very well quit his job just to avoid her. That would inevitably convince Granger that this whole ordeal was his fault, and he would never, ever live that down.

His eyes scanned the Atrium for bushy brown hair. He was so distracted that he bumped into more than one wizard on the way to the lifts, yet no sight of Granger. Draco knew exactly where he’d find her, and he was not surprised when he opened the door into their shared lab. 

There she stood, dressed in her common Department of Mysteries robes, her bushy brown hair exploding off the top of her head and taking up more space than it ought. Draco stared at her for a long second, trying to reconcile this version of Hermione Granger, a version before he had been familiar with from many years, with the baby he had held, had fed and soothed, had cared for. 

When she sensed his presence and turned to face him, his heart lurched towards his throat. Their eyes met and held for what felt like forever, the words he’d practiced for this very moment, gone. There was no need of them now, it seemed. 

A cauldron suddenly exploded, breaking the moment and calling Hermione’s attention once more. Draco released a shuddering breath before stepping towards her. He noticed she was wearing gloves, and smirked. “Taking better precautions, I see,” he quietly said. 

She looked up at him twice, a small, shy smile appearing. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think I’ve learned that lesson well now.” The moment stretched on, and Draco grew uncomfortable, however, he couldn’t walk away. Not yet. He sensed the same coming from her, and waited with a small measure of hope mixed with anticipation. She finally began, very quietly, even though they were alone. “Listen, I… I’m sorry… about…”  
He knew what she meant without her having to explain, and so he lifted a hand to stop her. She continued without notice. “I don’t recall … everything.” She snorted. “I probably ought to be thankful for that, but I do remember some parts. I remember you.” Hermione lifted her head to catch his eyes, apparently not surprised to already find he was watching her intently. 

“Thank you for… well, for everything,” she whispered. 

Draco stared down at her, distracted by the memories of a gurgling baby with the same beautiful brown eyes. “My pleasure, Granger,” he said after a long moment, and watched as the tension and anxiety melted from her freckled face. His smile was genuine in return and he felt relieved, as though everything would be all right now.


End file.
